Sitting in the back seat of my parent’s car sandwiched between two fluffy white Bichons, I lost it. “If I can’t be me in this family, I’m not going to keep coming back. If I have to be some small version of myself that doesn’t have boundaries, allows verbal and emotional abuse, control, manipulation, insults, belittling, and ultimatums just to keep the peace, then I won’t be a part of this family anymore. I’m DONE.”
By then I was sobbing and Henry, one of the Bichons had crawled onto my lap laying his head on my knee. This Christmas I had sworn not to do what I normally do when I visit my family— put my spiritual life and practices aside, dutifully attend their church, participate in their prayers over every meal even when mine aren’t invited, exhaust myself running around trying to spend quality one-on-one time with every family member, and tip toe around, biting my tongue or retreating to my room during certain family member’s domineering and abusive behavior. The little girl in me was scared. These were tried and true survival strategies. Why would I abandon them now?!
I suspect like many other co-dependents out there, I’m realizing that the self abandonment that comes with these worn out coping strategies is just not worth it anymore, if it ever was. The shrinking and diminished sense of self I always feel after these family visits only adds to the ocean of resentment that has built up since childhood. It’s an outdated submissive role that I inherited from my mother who inherited from her mother going back generations. The belief being, “I must deny my needs and desires to be a full participant in my relationships or I will be abandoned and lose love.” The truth is this belief has only perpetuated this unhealthy dynamic in my family and resulted in my abandoning myself over and over again. It’s not their fault. As an adult, it’s my responsibility to create my own safety with strong boundaries, and to trust and love myself enough to be and include my whole self in whatever company I’m in.
Perhaps it’s the pandemic that has given me the spaciousness and clarity to finally see how this old belief that I must passively engage in relationships has gotten me into more toxic relationships with men than I like to admit, but I’m grateful to finally be getting the memo: CO-DEPENDENCY IS KILLING ME!!!
The pattern began when I was 1 and 2 years old, when I was physically, verbally and sexually abused by a few older male relatives (none who are still in my life). It wasn’t safe to say “no”. It wasn’t safe to occupy space or express my needs and desires. And I witnessed my mother, aunt and grandmother modeling the same self abandonment. The men in our family were somehow allowed to be loud, take up physical and conversational space in the room, at the dinner table, say inappropriate things or behave poorly. The women were not, and seemed to quietly go along with it all, but I know they were only doing what they knew in order to survive. The men had the power and the held the purse strings.
And I want to acknowledge all the sensitive men and LGBTQ folks out there who have also felt sidelined, diminished, belittled, threatened and made into small, passive, compliant versions of themselves in order to survive the patriarchy we’ve all been subjected to.
All I can say now is thank Goddess, times are a changing!
Two days before I was scheduled to return from my trip, I did something radical. I told a family member “No.” I drew a boundary around my time and stuck with it despite threats to cut me out of their lives. I stood my ground to protect something that was important to me and allowed the emotional fallout. “This is really selfish of you” was the response. And sure enough, within a couple hours multiple family members were calling my Dad to defend this person’s position. For the first time, I heard a voice in my head say “Sometimes it’s ok to be selfish.” As a life-long co-dependent, those words struck terror in my heart that this choice would cost me my family. Despite that fear, I typed the words “I’m ok with that.” and pressed “Send” allowing the tectonic shift to reverberate through my body, and through my family.
Part 2
Flanked by my parent’s two fluffy white bichons in the back seat of their CRV, I was sobbing. Shedding the kind of tears you cry when you’re really done with a situation and already feeling the grief of the impending loss. “We all have choice, but there’s a cost to the choices we make,” said my Dad, referring to a recent argument I had with a relative where I drew a strong boundary around my time. “Yes, there is,” I replied. “But there’s a much bigger cost in abandoning myself and needs again and again. I will acknowledge people’s feelings, but I will not make myself responsible for them anymore. I feel badly that this person is hurt because of a choice I made for myself, but I would be feeling much worse right now if I’d given in and then missed out on what I was really needing. Additionally, I will no longer tip toe around and bite my tongue in the midst of [another family member’s] verbal and emotional abuse. I will speak up. So, either this be ok and I be allowed to be my full self, including my spiritual self, or I can no longer be a part of this family. I won’t continue to play my old passive role in this dysfunction.”
These were some the hardest words I’ve ever spoken, and to the people I love most in the world. But at some point I believe we all come to a crossroads in our relationships where we are presented a choice, to continue on the same path of self abandonment, to come to a new understanding and agreement towards a healthier dynamic, or walk away. That day I found words spilling out of my mouth that even surprised me. I certainly hadn’t anticipated traveling thousands of miles to draw a hard line with my family, but there we were.
2021 was a year of deepening trust in myself. I had very intentionally decided last January to trust more in my intuition, discernment, choices and decisions. Well, guess what happens when you decide to trust yourself? You’re given more opportunities to trust yourself! In November I had an experience that showed me some blindspots in my life, especially around some relationship dynamics that were depleting and draining me of my energy. I came out of that experience with crystalline clarity about what I was no longer willing to accept in my life and that my own co-dependency patterns that enabled these dynamics needed to end. [Co-dependency is a set of unconscious behavior patterns that arise from valuing everyone else’s needs over one’s own.]
So when I went back to my parent’s for Christmas and made a decision around my (very limited) time, which upset a family member, I had to decide: would I do what I’d always done and give in to other people’s demands in order to appease and keep the peace, or would I honor my own needs and face the fallout? This time I chose the latter. Sadly, the fallout continues as I find myself blocked by this person who I love very much. My Dad was right, there is a cost to our choices. It hurts knowing that something I did hurt someone I love and someone I would never intentionally hurt and that it’s created a rift in our relationship, but I know that if I hadn’t stuck with my decision, I would be resentful towards them and angry at myself for not taking a stand.
Fortunately, the conversation with my parents in the car ride home evolved to a point where I felt mostly heard and understood. I relaxed back in my seat watching the beautiful Montana winter landscape out my window, and feeling grateful for my parent’s ability to compassionately listen and make a real effort to understand.
As we continued our drive, I realized we were about to pass the house where my grandparents had lived for 65 years, prior to their deaths 10 years ago. My parents, siblings, and I all had so many memories of time spent there. Memories spanning from wonderful to very painful. As we got closer I recalled that I had a bag of cansasa in my purse (Lakota word for ceremonial tobacco and herb mixture) that I carry for blessing land.
“Dad I’d like to stop and make a prayer for our family.” “No Ros,” my Mom interjected. “I’m too tired. I want to get home.” “Mom, this is a part of what I’ve been trying to get across. I’ve participated in your prayers all week, even going to two church services with you, which I often do when I come to visit. In order for me to feel like a full participant in this family, I need my spiritual life and needs to be respected too. All I’m asking is that we step out of the car for 5 minutes to pray together.”
Reluctantly, my parents agreed. We pulled over and parked near the pond that sits next to my grandparent’s former white and green craftsman style house and walked onto what felt like ancestral land. My mother was raised there. She was also sexually abused there, as was I, but we both have a lot of good memories too, including learning to ice skate on that pond, and getting married there in my twenties.
As we stepped into the yard, I noticed the chipping paint and decay of the abandoned house. It was dark inside and the outside had a shadowy, barren quality, a stark contrast to a home that had held so much life for more than half a century. As we faced the pond, I felt the strong presence of the tall, hundred-year-old Cottonwood trees surrounding it, the obvious guardians of that land. Birds chirped and a soft gust of wind passed through. Despite the house feeling cold and barren, the land was very much alive. As I stood there a rush of memories came flooding back including the countless hours I spent as a little girl swinging on a tire swing that still hung from one of those trees and lying in the autumn grass looking up at the leaves blowing down around me, and the snow hill my grandfather would build every winter so that his grandchildren could sled down and fly across the frozen pond. It was a beautiful, idyllic place and I struggled for a few moments to reconcile all the good memories with the darker ones.
I poured a little cansasa into each of my parent’s hands. Then held mine out toward the pond and made the most heart-felt prayer of my life. I asked for the presence of the Great Mother and Great Father, my maternal ancestors who are well and at peace, as well as the elements and nature spirits of that land. I invited the ancestors of the natives who once moved through and stewarded that land, and likely enjoyed the hot springs nearby. I prayed to all who had loved that land and who wished our family well to join us. I thanked them for the immense blessing of having gotten to enjoy that land for so many decades and thanked the land itself for offering so much beauty, and sanctuary and peace during the hard times. I asked them to acknowledge all the joy and love within our family, but also to acknowledge the harm that has been inflicted and the ancestral trauma that has passed down through the generations via addiction and abuse. Finally, I asked for help in healing these ancestral wounds that continued to play out in our family.
When I finished, my mom and I embraced tearfully while my Dad thanked the 4 directions and made a beautiful prayer in Lakota for our healing. My Mom thanked Jesus, and we closed the ritual.
I don’t think our prayers lasted more than 10 minutes, but it felt incredibly healing for me, like a monumental threshold had been crossed. The prayer became a conversation between not just the three of us, but all who we invited to honor the lives lived and the land it all unfolded upon. It felt inclusive, and for the first time within my family, I felt fully included as a sovereign spiritual woman in her own right.
Once in the car I announced “Next I’d like to stop near “the stack” and make a prayer, and then a final stop at MY childhood home.” I received no pushback, and so off we went. The “stack” is the local name for an enormous 585 foot smoke stack built by an abandoned copper mining company. The nearby town I grew up in is well known for this landmark, but perhaps lesser known for the toxic environmental and cultural legacy it left behind. The mining company shut down in 1980 leaving behind miles of toxic tailings and devastated landscape as well as a collapsed economy. This all contributed to widespread depression and addiction among many of the locals that continues to this day.
We pulled off the road near the base of the stack and this time only my Dad and I got out of the car. I didn’t push my Mom to join us. I knew the previous stop was probably bringing up a lot for her. By then the temperature had dropped to 10 degrees above zero with a bitter cold wind. My Dad and I knelt behind the car for shelter. This time he led the prayer.
As someone who worked in social services since the early 70’s, my Dad knew first hand the impact that the mining industry and its collapse had on the communities he served, as he was often called to homes for reports of addiction and abuse. His prayer reflected those experiences. As he spoke I could hear the heartbreak in his voice still lingering in him for the families he couldn’t fully help and all the loss and devastation that area had endured. But I could also hear his strong faith. His faith in people, his faith in the resilience of the land, and his faith in God. Using both English and Lakota words and phrases, he asked for healing of the land, healing for the people in the surrounding communities, and for a new kind of relationship to form between the people and the land. It was a rare opportunity to experience this side of my Dad, to witness a merging of the various worlds he has walked in throughout his life. Having grown up on the Pine Ridge Reservation in South Dakota and greatly influenced by the Lakota’s culture and earth-based spirituality, but also as the son of an Episcopal priest and husband to a strong Christian woman, I’m sure it hasn’t always been easy for him to reconcile his Christian side with the deep respect he has for the spiritual wisdom traditions of the Lakota people. I have a tremendous amount of respect for his ability to see the commonalities and universal truths in both cosmologies. That afternoon I could see a stronger spiritual sovereignty arise in my Dad too. An inner knowing that he didn’t have to choose. Both cosmologies were a part of him and deserved honoring.
Together we distributed the cansasa on the land and then jumped in the car, grateful to warm our hands up as we headed for my childhood home. Fortunately all these places were within a 10-15 minute drive of each other and all on the route back to my parent’s home.
By the time we arrived at the place where I was raised, I was the only one to get out of the car, which was perfect because, this stop was for me. The house I’d grown up in was no longer there, replaced with another house, but the land was intimately familiar. Fortunately the current owners weren’t home and so I walked a few steps into the yard. As I sprinkled the cansasa onto the white snow, I thanked that land, the willow trees and pastures surrounding it for being a refuge and wonderland for me as a child. I attribute much of my love for nature to growing up there with plenty of space to run and explore and also retreat when times were hard. It was one of the few places as a kid I felt safe to fully be myself. I also had my first mystical experience in the field behind our house. Like the touchstone that the land, cottonwood trees, and pond had been for my Mom as a girl, this land had been that for me.
I spoke of the joy and freedom I felt as a child and I also acknowledged the painful events I experienced growing up there, not just in my home, but by enduring years of bullying at school. And I acknowledged the dysfunctional patterns that I had inherited as a way to cope with it all. They were survival strategies and definitely helped me survive those experiences, but putting everyone else’s needs ahead of my own hasn’t served me or my relationships in a very long time. Quite the opposite. I had finally experienced enough of living in perpetual survival mode to see all the ways my co-dependency patterns were sabotaging my life and preventing me from becoming the sovereign woman I want to be.
So there, where it all began, I declared with God/Creator/Spirit, Jesus, Mother Mary, Mary Magdalene, our ancestors, guides, and the spirits of that land all as my witnesses that I was ready to let go of those patterns. There I laid down layers of emotional armor and protection, people pleasing and other manipulative strategies, self abandonment, and asked for help going forward. Help to always honor and respect myself equally with others, and to stay true to my soul’s path, no matter what. Feeling a conviction in my words, I thanked everyone for their witnessing, support and love, and closed the prayer.
As I stood there, taking in the experience, everything looked a little clearer and crisper, my peripheral vision seemed to be taking in more of the landscape and I could feel the full weight of my body firmly planted on the ground. Interestingly, I felt I had landed a bit more inside my body. I waited a few more moments as these subtle shifts in my awareness continued. I could feel myself “filling out.” Somehow, more of me was standing there in the snow than when I’d arrived.
I got in the car and closed door. As my Dad drove off I looked back at what was my childhood home and smiled, realizing I was finally coming home to me.